


Pristine - Fe3h One Shots

by TremblingRiver



Category: FE3H, Fire Emblem, Fire Emblem: Three Houses, feth - Fandom
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, One Shot, Oneshot, Other, one shots, oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:14:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22798414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TremblingRiver/pseuds/TremblingRiver
Summary: A collection of one-shots pertaining to FE3H.They don't always have something to do with romance, just FYI.+ vs /When I use + between character names, it's a non-romantic one shot.When I use / between character names, it's a romantic one shot.I accept requests - but only on Wattpad, and I post them only there.~•~Also important, these one shots can be found on Wattpad @TremblingRiver (which is my account). I’m simply reposting it here. Speaking of... I don’t know that I’m truly going to dedicate myself to posting here. I’m just experimenting with other platforms.
Relationships: Byleth/Ashe, Byleth/Claude, Dorothea Arnault/Edelgard von Hresvelg
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	1. The Manuscript - Dorothea/Edelgard

Dorothea all but sprints to Edelgard, heavy manuscript in her arms.

"Edie! Edie, I did it!"

"Did what?"

"Oh, don't tell me you forgot!"

Edelgard tried to think of what she means, drawing up blank.

"Hail the mighty Edelgard, though red blood stains her story... Heavy as her crown may be, she will lead us all to glory... To a brighter dawn, we shall carry on... Hail Edelgard!" Dorothea sings in hopes of rekindling the memory of the opera.

"You didn't..." Edelgard replies.

"I did! I wrote the manuscript for an opera about you, Edie!"

Edelgard purses her lips, unsure of what to say next. Should she be thankful? Should she be flattered? Flustered?

"Would you mind reading through it?"

"...of course."

Dorothea holds out the hefty stack of papers, causing Edelgard to question a few things. Yet, she takes the stack. "That is... heavy..." she hardly gets out.

"Let me know when you're finished reading it. And give me an honest opinion."

"Where do you think you're going?"

"What do you mean? I don't want to be a distraction to you when you read it..."

Dorothea knows full well that it's an excuse. She is simply afraid of seeing Edelgard's reaction to a certain paper buried in that stack, and the thought of rejection terrifies her.

She had considered approaching Edelgard with the opera's manuscript several times, yet she was always so afraid of actually doing it and she chickened out. Sylvain had finally convinced her to go for it this time, and she built up the courage to give it to Edelgard.

But... she hadn't anticipated that Edelgard would want her to stay while she reads it.

"You won't be a distraction, you'll be an important piece of reading it. We'll be reading it together."

"Out... out loud?"

"Well, of course. If you're to perform it later, you'll be reading it aloud then. Plus, it'll be fun."

As much as Dorothea wishes she could run away, she stays to read it with her - breath caught in her lungs.

The pair had begun reading early in the morning, the only source of light having been the sun, and only begin to draw closer to the end late at night, illuminated by candlelight, moonlight, and the spectrum of scattered stars in the sky.

Edelgard pauses, causing Dorothea to panic. Have they already gotten to the page? The page decorated with pink swirls and dotted with hearts... The page that has a spritz of Dorothea's perfume on it, practically a love letter.

"You know, Dorothea... I'm glad that you actually put yourself as a character in the opera. I don't think you quite realize how important you are to me."

_Don't say things like that, Edie... it makes it harder for me to breathe..._

"Sorry, let's continue reading..."

Dorothea's heart leaps into her throat as she takes notice of the page in Edelgard's hands. It is, in fact, the page.

Edelgard reads the page aloud, growing quieter and more pink with each word she reads. "Dorothea..."

"I'm sorry... it's too weird, I-"

"I think it should happen."

Dorothea looks at where Edelgard points - at the word kiss scrawled on the page in cursive. "...is this a dream?"

"It's not." Edelgard grows closer to Dorothea, pressing her lips against hers in a quick kiss.

Dorothea's already pink cheeks grow impossibly more pink, leaving her incredibly bashful. She then asks, "...are you sure?"

"I'm certain." The two embrace, whispering sweet nothings and peppering one another with sweet kisses until the break of dawn, both far too excited by this new development to separate so soon and go to sleep.


	2. Otherworldly - Sitri/Jeralt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that these one shots won’t be updated with a regular schedule - I’m still determining whether or not it’s even worth it to be on AO3...
> 
> Anyways, here’s a one shot I’m super proud of.
> 
> But I suggest you read it on wattpad for a better experience - there are other elements that couldn’t be added to AO3.

Sitri was oft very ill, found resting in bed a great portion of the time. She had met a knight who always captivated her with his tales of the world outside the monastery; stories she never would have heard otherwise.

And he loved to see the sparks of passion in her eyes as he told them - it made him feel as though he mattered to her. Like his stories weren't just stories to her.

He fiddled with the ring in his pocket, walking to the place he had promised to meet her. He'd be there extra early, setting everything up.

A romantic little picnic on the grass fields outside the monastery, where Sitri would go to pick flowers when she was feeling well enough to do so.

A soft chuckling could be heard as the woman who caught Jeralt's eye so many times before stole the breath from his lungs.

She sat in the grass so peacefully, a pastel pink dress flowing like a waterfall and hair tucked behind her ears with a flower crown resting so gently on her hair.

In her lap was the bouquet that had been set down on the picnic blanket, a kind smile on her face as she hummed quietly - a sound so beautiful it challenged the song of a nightingale.

And her beauty as she basked in the gentle sunlight, capturing the harsh rays and turning them into something so perfect.

"...Sitri." His voice was rough, and he cringed as he heard it over her far lovelier one.

"Oh? Jeralt! You're quite early..."

"As are you. I was planning to set things up before you came... but it appears you're already here.”

"I'm sorry... I ruined the surprise..." she looked down at her hands as she fiddled with them.

"Hey, look at me." He replied, taking her hands in his. "Nothing is ruined."

She shook her head. "Are you certain? I can't help but feel guilty..."

"No harm done. I promise." Even if it did throw off his plans, it was rather nice to see her... he spent so much time taking care of missions for Lady Rhea, he hadn't seen much of her as of late.

He wanted to make sure to change that.

He held off from revealing the ring just yet.

He wanted it to be a grand occasion in which he offered it to her.

He had originally planned to put it on one of the flowers in the bouquet, to surprise her... but now he'd have to surprise her in another way.

And he figured out the right way to do it.

Their conversation bled from midday to sunset, laughter and smiling so prominent.

He needn't have liquid courage - for his courage was standing right before him.

"Would you look at that?" He asked, signaling towards the monastery.

"Wow... that's stunning..."

As her head was turned in the direction of the monastery, he took the ring from his pocket, kneeling beside her.

"But not quite as stunning... as you."

Sitri turned back to face Jeralt, and her eyes widened at the sight. She cupped her hands over her mouth, squealing a bit.

"Sitri, you are my everything. You are what brings me back to the monastery after every mission - what brings me great joy in my life... and so, I ask... will you marry me?"

"Goddess, yes! Yes, absolutely yes!"


	3. Songstress - Dorothea

She stood on the stage, bowing before her audience - breathing heavily.

She was the star.

They all loved her.

Her voice, acting skills and beauty all worked in perfect harmony, and they all loved it.

She wore a smile on her face, regardless of what had occurred after the previous show.

During their training, the previous star was approached by a strange man - by the clothes he wore, it was evident he was a noble - and he had begun to yell at her.

Before anyone could say or do anything, he leapt at her and wrapped his hands around her neck, attempting to strangle her.

Luckily for her, though, it was in the middle of their training, so she had a sword in hand. However... she had dropped it as her hands flew to her throat, clawing at his hands.

Dorothea, though, had leapt into action and swung her wooden sword until it snapped on the man's back as he finally let go.

"Old hag!" The man croaked out as he was dragged away, and the previous star scrambled away from where she had been previously, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them as she rocked herself back and forth.

Her throat was sore after the terrifying event, so she couldn't go on stage again...

And Dorothea hadn't seen her at all since the previous night.

And suddenly, a thought sprung into mind.

_He called her an old hag... and suddenly, she vanished entirely from the opera house... will the same happen to me someday?_

She had begun trembling as she waved to her audience and the curtain was drawn to a close.

And she gained a new fear. A fear of the passing time.

_Will that be me someday?_

As time progressed, she was showered with flowers and petals, love letters and marriage proposals, and she only found herself fearing time more.

Flowers.

Love letters.

Proposals.

All from the very people who used to kick her on the streets... the people who called her a rat... the people who would spit on her...

The disdain that had coiled itself within finally sprung loose as she made her decision...

No longer would she entertain such sick people.

She would follow her idol out the door.

She would be headed to Garreg Mach Monastery, no matter which noble she'd have to play.


	4. Nightmares - Byleth

At the age of eight, Byleth stood stoically before their father in the dead of night - emotionless look emblazoned upon their face.

Again, the idea of that young girl took over their sleep, leaving them restless.

The girl, all while appearing the same age as Byleth, was terrifying in her own respective right - but of course, Byleth would never be willing to admit it.

The girl remained silent in their dreams, leaving them to frightful thoughts.

Jeralt felt the presence of someone before him, and slowly awakened. "...Byleth? C'mere, kid."

Reluctantly, they obliged, not speaking a word.

"Is there a reason you're in here?"

Byleth shakes their head, wishing not to pester their father with such a ridiculous notion... a green-haired girl presenting herself in their dreams...

Jeralt might get the wrong impression... again.

"Was it the girl again?"

Byleth shrugs.

"You have to know."

Byleth nods, remaining ever-silent.

"Did she say anything this time?"

Byleth shakes their head, leaning on their father's bed.

Jeralt shuts his eyes for a moment. "I can't help you if you don't tell me what it is that's bothering you." Again, Jeralt bounces the idea off his child. Speaking... something Byleth rarely did.

"...she's..."

Jeralt looks at his child, interested to hear what they were going to say next, only to be disappointed by silence.

Byleth looks at their hands in slight frustration. They could never properly put their thoughts to words, not in the way they wanted.

"You have to talk to me so I can understand."

Byleth simply shook their head, deeming it best to return to their own room for slumber. Though... while sleep beckoned, it didn't come.

Jeralt watched with a frown as his child merely wandered back to their room, meandering and lingering for a moment before completely disappearing from his sight.

Jeralt sighs, deciding to follow Byleth to their room. Their frustrations had been obvious enough.

Upon entering the room, he spots Byleth lying on their side, staring blankly at the empty wall.

Byleth slightly tenses as their father sits on the bed beside them, causing the grungy mattress to sink a bit.

"You're afraid." Jeralt says, not even bothering to glance at Byleth already knowing the expression on their face.

As per usual, blank.

"...afraid?"

"Very much so."

"How could you tell?"

"You and I, Byleth... in some aspects, we aren't so far apart. We both try to hide it when we're afraid, and so in turn, we can both see it in each other. You can tell when I'm afraid, can't you?"

"You're afraid right now."

"It's obvious?"

"Why?"

"Because you're an odd kid, Byleth. Your heart doesn't beat, but you still breathe... you don't smile, but you can still be happy... that's why I'm afraid."

"I still don't get it."

"You will at some point. I promise."

Byleth doesn't reply, continuing to stare blankly at the wall.

"That girl... it's only a dream. She can't hurt you. Try to get some sleep, kiddo. I'll spend the night in here with you if you're truly that afraid of the girl."

Byleth nods as their father turns out the lights, finally falling into an dreamless slumber.


	5. The Ashen Demon - Byleth

At the young age of thirteen, Byleth had to kill for the first time.

They'd been training with their father for years already, having been on the battlefield with him since the age of seven, and no such situation had occurred before.

Byleth felt relatively safe, oftentimes found hidden behind their father's mercenaries. Relatively.

There would never be a guarantee of safety, nothing told them that more than when the man behind them collapsed to the ground, throat slit open. There was a traitor amidst their father's band of mercenaries.

Never had they ever been so terrified, not even during those dreams of the girl who never seemed to age.

Trust never came easily after that.

In that pure moment of Byleth's terror, they had attempted to flee without a sound... their greatest skill was their silence, and so they'd gotten away safely enough - though, many more of their father's men fell.

They'd run to their father who immediately turned at the sound of Byleth's voice.

He'd then barked out the order to the men behind him to be wary and cautious, the killer having fled already before being spotted.

Jeralt had decided to keep Byleth at the front lines by his side to protect them, to keep them far from the killer and the antics going on behind them.

Suddenly, Byleth saw the truth of being a mercenary. The death, the gore...

Byleth had first turned away, feeling sick to their stomach - and that millisecond had been all the killer needed to take hold of them.

"MOVE AND THE BRAT GETS IT!" The killer held a dagger to Byleth's throat, ready to kill them.

Byleth hadn't cried; not even then. Not even when death was nearly certain.

The mercenaries wouldn't stop for them; they never stopped for anyone.

Byleth simply blinked, staring into the distance attempting to get a good final sight.

The landscape before them was vast and treeless, the sky overcast and gloomy. No rain, and yet...

A warm and sticky liquid covered Byleth's hand, trickling down.

The dagger once held against their throat had been plunged into the traitor's.

Byleth watched as the life drained from the traitor's eyes, his death rather dramatic.

He choked for a bit, coughing up blood. Tears rolled down as his cheeks until they couldn't.

Byleth had met the children of the traitor; they were all far more normal than them... and now... they were fatherless.

Byleth, unflinching in the face of death, simply rose to their feet, walking past their father to stare out at the gray sky.

And all the color... all color except red... was gone.

Jeralt began to cry at the sight of his trembling child, whose eyes were locked upon their forever bloodied hands.

No goddess could ever undo what they'd done, and even if they could, he would never wish for her to.

"It's a demon!" One of the bandits the mercenaries were fighting called out, knowing full-well that it had been the child's first kill.

"The Ashen Demon!" Another called out.

Byleth's hands balled up into fists, accepting the title. "...that sounds right..." they whispered to themself.


	6. The Magic - Lysithea

Lysithea was filled with amazement as she wandered the magical streets of Morfis, heart beating a mile a minute.

She never thought she'd see such beauty in something so normal...

On a daily basis, she used magic herself... but here, the people pulled rabbits from hats and birds from pools of clear liquid.

It made her feel warm, yet cold at the same time - chills traveling down her spine even as balls of fire danced on the air around her, almost as though they were young children playing leap frog.

Morfis is certainly flourishing, with crowded cities and people pushing past her.

The intricate architecture looked almost half as magical as the people who dressed in bright colors and wore mystical robes, with floating balconies and decently sized glass spheres bobbing up and down in the air.

Everywhere she looked, she saw something else amazing - for example, to her left, a young boy was leading a dance with fire, while to her right, a woman gently blew into a whirlwind of ice, forming the intricate features of a bunny upon it.

Ignatz would have loved it all... well, all the Golden Deer would have.

But they all had their duties... and while yes, Lysithea had hers as well, she only had so much time left to pursue her only dream... and those duties were no longer the same as they once were.

She had vanished from the public eye with her parents, House Ordelia having been lost forever.

Now she was just... Lysithea. An average citizen of Morfis, no claim to any higher title.

She would never be used to its magic, however...

She'd already lived in Morfis for a year, and every morning she woke up to the gentle sound of wind chimes, and she'd leave her room early to wander the streets of Morfis before heading off to the beach - where the magic was less prominent, but just as wondrous.

The magic never faded, not entirely... nor as quickly as she did. She lived out the remainder of her days peacefully, and the last time anyone saw her...

Her smile was bright enough to challenge the sun. It was like magic.


End file.
